for he felt himself to be armed. Hazelton had been a clever pitcher in
his high school days and knew that he could make this fragment of rock
land pretty close to where he wanted it to go.

"Who are you?" demanded Hazelton, once more, as he stepped cautiously
forward. "No use in your keeping silent, my man. I see you and know that
you're there. Moreover, I'm going to drag the truth out of you as to what
you're doing out here on the wall at this hour of the night---and to-night
of all nights."

Still no answer; Harry went steadily forward, until he was within a dozen
feet of the head of the flattened brute in human guise. Hazelton could now
see every line of his adversary plainly, though he could not make out the
fellow's face.

"You'd better get up and talk," warned Harry, poising the rock fragment
for a throw. "If you don't you'll cast all the more suspicion upon
yourself. For the last time, my man, who are you and what are you doing
here?"

The huge black figure might have been a log for all the answer that came
forth.

"All right, then; it's your own fault," Harry Hazelton continued calmly.
"As you won't speak I'm going to crack the nut for myself. Your head will
be the nut, and this rock I have in my hand shall be the hammer. I'm going
to slam this rock on your head with all the force I've got, and I'm a good,
straight thrower."

Yet, though Hazelton spoke with such confidence, he was far from meaning